


Big Sky Country

by ThePornProject



Series: Pie with Dean Filling [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 21:46:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4279095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePornProject/pseuds/ThePornProject
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One summer Dean rides along on a cattle drive.  He doesn't drive cattle.  </p><p>(Or, alternatively, 'How Dean Came by his Bow-Legs Honestly'.  Or even more alternatively, 'Save a Horse, Ride a Hunter'.  Or, accurately: 'the one with the cowboy porn'.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Big Sky Country

**Author's Note:**

> For the loverly you-know-who-you-are because your brain is a dastardly place. Unbetad because dats how I roll! (Sorry!)

Hannah's lingering in the doorway five minutes past her lunch break casting worried looks at our guest, bless her. Can't help but think my face looks a hell of a lot similar. Kid's seen better days, no lie. He's the kind of skinny that ain't vanity, the kind of muscled that don't come from an air conditioned gym, and the kind of persistent that ain't anything but desperate. Hannah's got a boy about his age; only thing _that_ kid's worrying about is his next video game. I wave her off. Not a lot she could do, and the kid in my office don't seem like he's too sure what to do with her fluttering. He came in wound tighter than a tick and won't be much inclined to change that so long she's here. Old-fashioned kind of upbringing I'd guess, all 'ma'am's and smiles, while knowing better than to lay what's bothering you on womenfolk. I have to approve. Hannah can go get her lunch and me and the kid can work this out man-to-man.

 

“Make it a long one darlin',” I tell her and it's a moment or two before I hear the front door click shut and locked behind her. Kid doesn't look like he realizes how much he's giving away, shifting to just a little less tense once it's just me and him. “Look son, I feel bad for you, I really do.”

 

“Don't need you to feel bad for me sir,” he cut in. “Need you to hire me.”

 

I give to charity, like the Book says you're supposed to. I give my 10% every Sunday and a cut of profits to them missionaries bringing God to heathens someplace too goddamn wet for any good sense. I'm not a stingy man for charities, but I don't run my business on one. Kid's built to fight, so much is clear, but his handshake good and told me he ain't never had em cut up when a harness slips or had to dig wood out of his palms when a fence stake does. Granted, he's not like the kids from town who've been here before, the ones more than half liable to start crying the first time a body brands a calf. But a good wind'd knock him right on his round little ass, no two ways.

 

“Ain't got no work you could _do_ son, this ain't an internship. I got Hannah and my own girl for the office and no man with a conscience would send you outside alright? You can't right now look me in the eye, stick your hand on my Book and tell me know an iron from your own backside without earning yourself a lightning strike right where you stand. Don't got time for amateurs thinkin' they're Clint Eastwood.” 

 

It's not fair, strictly speaking. Kid didn't walk in with chaps and a 10 gallon hat and spurs and yellin' heigh ho Silver or nothing. Hannah'd have him right out on his ass, cap in hand and shame in heart in less than a heartbeat. But obnoxious or not, an amateur's still an amateur and my insurance'd chew me up and spit me out if I let this kid go get himself trampled. 

 

He's angry, and he don't have much experience in hiding it all that well poor bastard. Still he tries, and I respect that.

 

“Man's gotta eat right?” he says finally, choking down the first and second and hell, even fifth thing that came to his mind since speaking in anger'd get him nowhere fast. “Would appreciate clothes that aren't soaked in last week's shit. There's stuff to be done, sir, stuff I _can_ do and I'm willing to do it. I know it's not all about cattle wrangling. I can fix a fence, I've done it before. And there's a bunch of other little stuff that the guys wouldn't have to do, free em up to concentrate on their _actual_ jobs instead of house-keeping. I'm not proud sir, I won't turn my nose up at nothing. I'll do whatever I need to.”

 

My next question would be 'where are your parents' but I think I already know the answer'd be 'hell if I know'; he's got that look. So I go with the one after: “How old are you?”

 

He snorts. “Old enough to have a kid in Northdale Jr High this fall and extracurricular costs are upfront.” 

 

I'll be damned. It's not a lie. Not the truth by a long shot, but not quite a lie and I'm damn good at spotting em. He rounds my desk and I don't typically allow that but he's been half-following me around the office since he got here and for some reason I never felt the need to stop it. “I don't want charity,” he repeats and steps closer. “I need income.” It might have been one of those interrogation tactics, crowding a man's space to make more amenable to saying whatever'd make you go away. It might have worked for him if he weren't a slight thing. He's still got a growth spurt left to go I'd reckon, something that'd firm up his shoulders and hips, make him a bit less slender, less feminine.

 

“Sir. Please.”

 

My mouth's just dry enough that my throat clicks when I swallow, and I'm not entirely sure when that happened.

 

“I can't.” It's much more strained than I would have thought, and I swallow again. “You're right, there's some things that a man out working for me shouldn't expect to do for himself. But those jobs, they're... they're not something I'd hire a boy for, you understand? They're a package deal, son. I couldn't. I couldn't take communion Sunday if I had hiring you for that on my conscience.”

 

He's quick, Lord he's quick. Words barely out of my mouth before his eyes widen in understanding and his jaw clenches. What I was hoping it'd do I don't rightly know. But what does happen is he doesn't pull away. He won't look at my face, but he won't back up neither. His hands close into loose fists and a tongue darts out, a flash of quick pink to wet his top lip.

 

“Son-”

 

“It's the 20th century sir,” he interrupts. “Modern America's starting to get pretty progressive. A guy can do about anything a girl can.”

 

He's not pulling away. He's stepping closer and there's not been a day in my life my legs have failed me yet until right now. I catch my hip half on the desk, half on the armrest when I thump into chair, and it creaks threateningly like it has for years, but it holds. Even sitting my head's not much below his and it doesn't stay like that for long. One hand braced on my desk, the other on my thigh and he's moving hesitant like I've not had the honor of seeing before. “You don't know what you're doing,” and it's fact in more ways than one.

 

He winces, just a bit but it's there. “I learn fast.”

 

He's got my belt open between one breath and the next, popping the button before staring at the zipper speculatively. It's nearly enough time for me to find my damn backbone, but then he's pressing his nose to my bluejeans and drawing the zip down, achingly slowly, with his teeth in a move I'd never seen outside of porn. Feels like the breath is punched right out of me.

 

“I've got a grandkid your age,” I say, almost desperate because he needs to _go_ and I can't find how to make myself stop him. He looks me dead in the eye and licks those pretty lips.

 

“I won't tell.”

 

I think I knew then he'd be riding out with the others next week.

 

My very first blow job was from my very own May when we were sweethearts, back when a girl was supposed to be a virgin for marriage but nobody said much about how they chose to play around otherwise, especially if everyone and their grandma's dog knew the wedding'd be right after the graduation. Any others I've had since were girls in the Profession, knew what they were about and their way around. Today was a day of firsts and that included a first time I had an inexperienced mouth on me. God above, was he sweet. Equal parts hesitance and enthusiasm and tomorrow guilt would chew at me knowing he felt he had to chose his knees to put his boy through school. But today I was swallowed up, consumed by bridling his enthusiasm and prodding through his hesitance. He takes direction like a soldier and responds to the barest touches like he could soak up affection from them. He slowed when I made him, and sped up too and when I finished he coughed and choked but swallowed down as much of it as he could because I told him to, blinking up through those long lashes that looked a whole lot like a girl's didn't they?

 

I was right: a week later he rode out with the hands to meet the incoming rotation. He didn't come back with them.

 


End file.
